


At Last

by tellmealovestory



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Dry Humping, Established Relationship, F/M, Oral Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:33:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26975929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tellmealovestory/pseuds/tellmealovestory
Summary: Requested; so buck and reader are both avengers and they fell in love after being friends, then they confessed, yada yada, but they didn’t immediately have sex, when they initially confessed their feelings, just cause that wasn’t important. so now they they are getting closer and further in their relationship and have to deal with the awkwardness of finally sleeping together. even though it’s what they both really want, I just imagine there being some hesitancy and awkwardness. maybe one or the other is worried about being disappointing, or they just feel so excited that it’s overwhelming?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 68





	At Last

Steady hands. 

You tell Bucky one time that’s what he has. Countless missions out on the field, enemies rushing at him, friends and strangers counting on him and you’ve never once seen his hands shake. Not so much as a tremor when he’s stitching you up in poorly lit bathrooms in foreign countries after missions gone wrong. Waking from nightmares, breathing heavily, hands that clench around blankets, but still, not so much as a tremble. A confession of feelings and a slew of awkward first dates, the first time he has his hands beneath your shirt exploring new skin and his hands are _still_ steady. It becomes something you’re so use to seeing that when you finally do see his hands shake you’re caught off guard.

Laying beneath him on soft sheets in an apartment that’s too small, but it’s yours and it’s _homey_ you’re mesmerized by the way his hand shakes as he helps you out of your shirt. He murmurs a quiet _sorry_ when he sees you staring, presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth before grabbing the pillow by your head. 

“Buc-,” you start, but it’s all you get out before his mouth is slanting over yours and swallowing down the last two letters of his name. In the dark recesses of your mind you know that you should talk about this, but he makes it so hard to think when his kisses leave your head spinning and your body yearning for more. 

Short nails rake down the back of his neck and he’s groaning into your mouth, the sound sending jolts of need straight to your core. Hitching your leg around his waist to pull him closer you’re left gasping when he breaks the kiss. He gives you enough time to catch your breath and then his mouth is back on yours while the fingertips of his metal hand slowly stroke along your side.

The cool metal is a welcome relief against your heated skin, but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a little surprising. You can count on one hand the number of times he’s used his metal hand on you and though it feels good when it slides further up your side, fingertips brushing along the lace trim fabric of your bra it’s still an unusual move from him. Again, you know that you should talk about this, but your mind and body are waging two different wars, torn between talking and giving in to the way that he makes you feel. 

Half lidded eyes and you’re letting out breathy little pants of anticipation when he kisses his way across your cheek and down your neck. Head tilting to the side, hands roaming over broad shoulders, one flesh and one metal then down the taut muscles of his back. The little grunts he lets out against the crook of your neck spur you on and his name tumbles from wet and swollen lips in a broken chant when he finds your pulse point. Mouth sucking bruises into your skin, light sheen of sweat covering your face and chest, already so close, but it’s not close enough. Weight heavy, hand switching to your other breast, mouth moving down to your throat in open mouth kisses.

Muscles ripple beneath roaming hands, his thigh grinds with a little more force against your core and you feel like you’re out to sea adrift in a wave of overwhelming pleasure, but the feeling doesn’t last. 

Sliding his hand from your breast to the curve of your back you’re sitting up just enough for him to reach the clasp of your bra. What should take him no more than a few seconds after months of practice has him fumbling tonight. Letting out a quiet _fuck_ he follows it up with another _sorry_ and it’s enough for the fog in your mind to clear. The last time you saw him like this was the first time your relationship moved to the physical side, but that was months ago. Lowering your leg from around his waist he shifts his position and your knee jabs him in his rib. Even with his super soldier serum you don’t miss the way he hisses or the way his metal fingers unintentionally pinch the skin of your back. 

It’s a flurry of movement, a chorus of mumbled apologies and quiet reassurances that he’s okay, that you’re okay, it’s you sitting up and swatting his hand away, your fingers rubbing where he pinched you, it’s him sitting up on his knees, heat rising to your face and hiding behind your hands. It’s silly worries and unfound doubts that flow through your veins and cloud your mind. 

“Think the solution is you shouldn’t wear bras anymore,” he quips, but the lightheartedness in his voice doesn’t reach his eyes. Hovering over your body he kisses your forehead before murmuring a soft _come on_ and gently pulling your hands away from your face. 

“You would suggest that.” Hint of a smile on his face and he’s dipping his head down to kiss you, but it’s not the same. Unlike the long, drawn out kisses of earlier that left you panting and needing him, these kisses are chaste, hesitant almost and unlike earlier when his hands were exploring your body he keeps them steady on the pillows by your head as if he’s afraid of touching you.

Frustration bubbles up and it’s impossible to get lost in his kisses. It feels like each of you are going through the motions, minus the usual love and passion that flows through. It’s not anyone’s fault and logically _you know that_ , but you can’t help feeling as if the reason neither of you seem able to cross this last physical line is somehow because of you. 

Mind reeling you barely register the feel of his lips working their way back down your neck in a half hearted attempt to fix this night. 

“Buck?” 

A warm puff of air and you’re squirming beneath him when his tongue circles over the earlier bruise he left you. Pushing his shoulder he gets the hint, mouth pulling away and he’s staring down at you and licking his lower lip.

“What’s going on?” Your voice comes out softer than you want it to. Arms laying limp at your side, strap of your bra twisted around your shoulder and you don’t miss the subtle way he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion or the pastel pink that blooms onto his cheeks in a blink and you’ll miss it moment, but he covers it all with a quick and charming smile.

“Well,” he drawls, lowering his mouth again, but you turn your head to the side and his lips land on your cheek. “I _was_ tryin’ to make out with my beautiful girlfriend.”

Another time his joke and compliment would have your heart soaring and a smile stretched so wide on your face it would hurt. Another time you’d be laughing, telling him _compliments will you get you everywhere, Barnes_ with an exaggerated wink because you know it makes him laugh. Tonight though his words don’t land the same.

Lifting your hand to his cheek, stubble scratching at your palm you search the depths of his blue grey eyes for a clue into what’s going on with him. Coming up empty you struggle to find the right set of words.

“I’m serious, Bucky,” you say softly, fingers stroke along the jaw you’re convinced was sculpted by the gods. "It’s okay to be nervous. I know this is a big step for us.”

“Who says I’m nervous?” He says it with such confidence that you _want_ to believe him desperately, maybe if you didn’t know him as well as you do you would. You’ve been together long enough to know when he’s lying, when he’s hiding things from you and you shoot him a withering look, one that leaves him blushing again and lets you both know he’s full of shit.

“I don’t know,” you drawl, borrowing a page from his book. Fingers dance along his chin and when he tilts his head into the palm of your hand you again think about how easy it would be to shelve this conversation and kiss him until your lips are swollen and the only thing on each of your minds is the overwhelming pleasure of being together. “Maybe it has something to do with your hand shaking. Or the way you were barely touching me and when you _did_ touch me you treat me like glass or mayb-”

“That’s not it." 

You wait a beat for him to elaborate on what it is if he’s not nervous, but he stays silent, steely eyes drifting to the headboard. You can practically see the concrete walls going up around him, but you refuse to let him shut you out. Tilting his face back to yours you peck his lips and murmur, "So what is it?”

“It’s been awhile." 

A heavy sigh tumbles out and you swear your neighbors in the next apartment over can hear it. He rolls off of you and onto his back, legs spread wide and you want to find humor in the way he’s stretched out and filling your bed with the pale pink sheets. Missing the weight of him on you and the way his hot skin kept you warm you shiver. Reaching down to cover yourself with one of your discarded shirts or a blanket his words stop you dead in your tracks. A heaviness laces his voice, your heart sinks into your chest and the sound of sheets rustling fills the space as he sits up, back flush against the pile of pillows you insist on keeping at all times. "What if I’m not any good?”

You swear you’re going to get whiplash with how quickly you turn to face him. Creases line his forehead, hands ball into fists at his side, shoulders slumped, mouth tilted downward in a frown and all you can manage is to whisper an _Oh, Bucky_ because how could he ever think that? Without giving it a second thought you climb into his lap. Straddling his waist, legs falling open on either side of his thick thighs you cup his cheeks, tilting his face up so he’s forced to look at you.

A whirlwind of thoughts blow through your mind, your mouth closes and opens and you stare down at the man you love trying to find the words that will appease the doubts coursing through his veins. 

“Why would you even say something like that?” You blurt. It’s not smooth nor is it close to what you want to say, but your outburst has the barest of smiles curling his lips up. 

A lift of his shoulders and you watch the concrete wall fall brick by brick. Neither of you are strangers to the uncomfortable conversations that come with being in a relationship, but that doesn’t make them any easier to have. 

“‘Cause,” he mumbles. “Wanna give you everything you deserve, doll. What if after all this time I can’t live up to your expectations?” Casting his eyes downward you tilt his head back up refusing to let him hide away from you no matter how painful the conversation gets. 

“Oh, Bucky,” you say again because there aren’t enough words in any language for you to explain how wrong he is. Kissing his forehead you take your time to gather your thoughts. “Is that what tonight has been about with the,” you pause, nodding at his hand and gesturing to your bra, “ _because you could never disappoint me, James Barnes, okay?_ We _both_ agreed that waiting was the right choice for us and this idea that after all this time you think I’d have _expectations_ for when we do have sex is ridiculous when you know that’s not true, silly boy.”

Your words aren’t having the effect on him you were hoping for so you kiss his forehead again, the tip of his nose and finally his lips. He doesn’t kiss you back. Swallowing your disappointment you try again. “I love you, Bucky and even if our first time together is a disaster like that night in the back of Sam’s car I woul-“

“Jesus, doll,” he groans and you can’t help laughing at the way he’s attempting to frown. “Thought we agreed not to talk about that?”

It’s your turn to shrug your shoulders. For a second you stare down at time caught up in the way your mind is replaying that night. “ _Anyways_ ,” you carry on as if he hadn’t interrupted, “That night wasn’t our finest, but it didn’t matter in the end and you know why?” 

His fingers glide up your side and you take victory in the fact that slowly he’s coming back to you. The tension in his shoulders is loosening, his metal hand uncurling, hint of a sparkle returning to those eyes you love so much. You’re not naive enough to think that one conversation will fix his insecurities, but he’s opening up, relaxing and that’s more than enough for you. 

“Why?”

“Because I was with you and that’s all that matters.“

“That right?”

“Mhm.” 

“Fuck I don’t deserve you, Y/N.” Wrapping his arm around your waist he buries his head in the crook of your neck. Warm breath and your fingers are carding through his hair. Silence settles in around you, but unlike earlier when it was thick with tension this time it’s thick with love and a new understanding. 

“Did you not listen to anything I said, silly boy?” You tease with a sigh and kiss to the top of his head. 

“Hard to concentrate when you’ve got your shirt off.”

“Perv.”

This time when he laughs his eyes are full of glitter and crinkles, the sound bouncing around your room and you swear you’ve never seen or heard anything more beautiful in your life. 

A glance at the alarm clock he bought for you when you kept oversleeping for important meetings tells you it’s still early for New York. “If we get dressed now we can get ice cream at that place you like so much before they close,” you offer. 

“Can think of something better we could do,” he suggests lowly, fingers stroking higher, brushing over the lace side of your bra.

Your breath hitches and your heart jumps at the prospect of his words. It takes all your self control not to jump at his offer. Watching him through half lidded eyes you tease, “Better than ice cream? You sure about that, Barnes?”

“Positive.” 

And suddenly you’re not talking about ice cream anymore. A subtle shift in the air above you changing from thick with love to thick with need, bone deep and hair raising you wonder when it happened. After your reassurances? After he cracked a joke? After your sarcastic retort? It’s hard to know, but it’s there, electricity in the air crackling above you and along with it a sense of excitement at this next step in your relationship.

He can feel it too. Oceanic eyes turning darker, pink tongue wetting lips, fingers going higher still, dancing along the top of your bra. Metal hand holding steady to your waist when your hips accidentally shift downwards earning you a low groan from him.

“We don’t have to,” you whisper because even though he was joking only moments before his touches are still featherlight. And even though his eyes are growing darker, his length growing harder beneath the shifting of your hips you know he’s still hesitant about this. You want to tell him there’s no rush, but he’s tilting his head up and capturing your lips in a kiss that’s as sweet as cotton candy and as gentle as the very first time he kissed you.

Pillow soft lips and his metal hand is guiding the slow movement of your hips. There’s no rush right now and you like it best like this, all long, drawn out kisses and slow touches, each one seeming to whisper I love you into your skin.

Parting your lips he expertly slips his tongue in. Licking into your mouth you’re whining, fingers curling around his hair when you press yourself closer to him.

Nearly out of breath you’re reluctant to break the toe curling kiss even for a second, but when you do your lips don’t stray far from his. A kiss to the corner of his mouth, breath coming out in pants and your hips are grinding down against his with more force. 

“What if I want to?” He breaths.

Smiling against his mouth you kiss him again. Reaching behind your back and now you’re the one with fumbling hands, but if Bucky notices he doesn’t say anything. In a different set of circumstances you can multitask like a champ, but he makes it hard to concentrate when he’s deepening the kiss.

A muffled moan, fingers falling from your back and your senses are consumed with the way he tastes like cinnamon and how he smells like your warm vanilla body wash he says he never uses. A plea balances itself on the tip of your tongue and you want to _beg_ him to let you get your bra off, but he’s kissing his way across your burning cheek and down your neck. The previous task at hand forgotten about until he murmurs a cheeky, “Need some help with that?”

Mind thick with a hazy layer of fog, underwear growing damper, pit of your stomach burning with the need to have more of him you prepare to answer, but he drags his mouth down your neck to that _one_ spot that always leaves you a gasping, needing mess. 

“Well?” He prompts, teeth nipping at your sweaty skin and for a moment you can’t remember what he’s asking about. Hand resting on his shoulder, nails digging into his flesh you whine. His metal hand drags along the curve of your back, fingers toying with the clasp of your bra and you’re trying to break through your lust addled mind enough to remove the stupid thing. For a second you entertain the thought of his earlier solution to just not wear a bra, it’d make it a lot easier to get undressed in situations like these. 

Dragging his nose along the column of your throat you let out pathetic little mewls and gasps as you swat his hand away. “I’ve got it,” you gasp and you hope that you do because your'e not sure how much longer you can handle his teasing touches and tempting kisses. In a flash the garment is unclasped, straps hanging loose on your shoulders and you swear to god your heart is about to burst out of your chest with the gentle way that he slides the thin straps down your arms before tossing it aside. You flashback to the first time that you found yourselves in this position and you marvel at how far you’ve both come. For a second everything is still. His chest glistening with sweat rises and falls, his lips pink and swollen from the long kisses, his eyes as dark as the night sky shift between your own that you know must be just as dark, down to your own swollen lips, to the bruises that he left down to your chest, nipples already hard and begging to be touched. 

“Y/N,” he breaths and you swear that your heart really _does_ burst because he says your name like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen even though he’s seen you shirtless more times than you can count. “Fuck, doll." 

You want to tell him, no, _beg_ him to touch you, to please, please touch you, but you can’t get a word in when his hands fall to the back of your thighs and in a quick burst of confidence you haven’t seen from him since the night began he rolls you onto your back. A surprise gasp at the new position soon turns into a breathless plea for _more_ when the pads of his thumb brush across your nipples. Reaching out for him your hands land on his biceps, nails digging in, head tilting back into your soft pillows, eyes fluttering shut when he leans down to press a kiss to your jaw. "Keep going, Bucky,” you urge breathlessly because even with the brief glimpse of your confident Bucky you know in the featherlight way his thumbs are circling over your nipples that he’s still nervous about this next step. “Bucky, _please_.”

“Please what?” he murmurs, the words sounding more sinful than sweet when he presses a quick kiss to your collarbone before dragging his mouth down to the tops of your breasts. Squirming beneath him and panting a light sheen of sweat coats the back of your neck and you can’t remember ever being so needy or desperate to have him. Your hands fly to his hair when his mouth envelopes your breast, teeth grazing across your nipple and you’re hissing at the hint of a sting, but he soothes it with his tongue. Metal hand massaging your other breast and the contrast between cool and smooth and his warm and wet mouth has you arching your back and yanking on his hair. Cradling the back of his head you pathetically lift your hips up in search of some form of friction. A muffled groan from him and a lazy smile is curling up your lips because you know how much he loves when you tug on his hair. 

“God, Bucky,” you gasp and you’re amazed you’re able to get those two words out. “Feels… _oh_ really good.” The next set of words are harder to get out, but you swear when the praises tumble out his cheeks are turning pink and he’s working even harder to bring you the most pleasure he can with his mouth. And, oh, how he can bring you to the brink with just his mouth. The thought alone has you panting and threading fingers through his hair and when his mouth pulls away from your breast with a quiet pop you think he must be able to hear how loud your heart is beating when he offers you the sweetest smile, eyes locking on yours as he kisses his way down your stomach. 

Unlike earlier when his hands shook trying to take your bra off this time they’re steady against the zipper and button of your jeans. A tug and he’s pulling them off, underwear following close behind and you’re left to wonder if he’s gaining his confidence back or if more likely this is such a familiar position that it’s second nature to him. 

Skimming his fingers along the inside of your thighs your breath catches in your throat. Staring up at him with a hammering heart and half lidded eyes you’re torn between letting him take his time and begging him to touch you. Wetness pools between your thighs and the fire in your belly burns hotter the longer his eyes rake over you. 

“Buc-”

“I know, doll,” he croons, but his words do little to ease the desire coursing through you. “Just let me look.” A murmur, a whisper of a kiss against your lips, fingertips ghosting higher and he’s so close, but again, it’s not close enough. “You’re so beautiful.”

Tips of his fingers spread your slickness around and you’re clawing at his biceps while panting in anticipation. Taking his time he kisses you, teeth nipping at your lower lip, middle finger slipping past wet folds and you’re moaning in relief as he’s groaning into your open mouth. “So wet for me.” A rush of warm breath against your already scorched face and you’re tangling a hand in his hair, hips tilting upward in a silent plea for a little more. He gets the hint, second finger sliding in, lingering kiss to your jaw and he’s talking again, but it’s hard to focus on the low timbre of his voice when all you can focus on is the slow pull and drag of his fingers against the heat of your core. “That feels good, doesn’t it?”

You want to answer him, but when you open your mouth to speak all that comes out is a low pitched whine, but it’s enough of an answer for him. Grin stretched wide across his face he kisses your shoulder, pad of his thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit and you’re melting into your bedsheets and falling under his spell.

“Bet I can make it feel even better.” A kiss to your collarbone and you can’t be sure, but you think you respond with a _please_ , the sound becomes muffled around his throaty laugh and the rustling of sheets. “That what you want? For me to make it feel better?" 

Again, you can’t answer, but he doesn’t press you to and you want to tell him how much you love him for that, but the words are lodged in the back of your throat. Settling himself between your thighs like it’s his home he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh and you’re tossing your head back when the stubble of his beard rubs over your skin. One hand on the back of his head urging him closer and the other is tangled around sheets that are becoming damp with sweat and arousal. Your hips tilt upwards and this time when you part your lips the words _do_ manage to come. 

"B-Bucky…”

Leaning up on elbows your eyes nearly roll back when you catch sight of him between your thighs. Hair a mess, cheeks flushed your favorite shade of pink, fingers still dragging through your folds as his mouth teases your inner thighs you swear to god you’ve never seen him look more attractive before. His shoulders are fully relaxed, his attention on you and only you and you take pride in the fact that he’s slowly gaining his confidence back after the mishaps of earlier. Your heart is working overtime and you swear if he doesn’t stop teasing you’re going to combust and it’s not an exaggeration. Carding your fingers through his hair you encourage him quietly to keep going, but he needs no encouragement when he replaces his fingers with his tongue without warning. 

“Jesus!” You cry, body falling backwards with a flop. “Oh fuck.” A string of obscenities follow soon after and you’re not sure what you’re blurting, all you know is that it feels good. _Really good_ when his tongue delves between your soaking folds and you never want him to stop. Bucking your hips up you clench your eyes shut as his mouth latches onto your clit. 

Moaning against your core the vibrations send your back arching and there’s nothing sexier than knowing he’s getting pleasure from getting you off. 

Grinding his hips into your bed for relief against his straining erection he curls his hand around your thigh, pulling his mouth back enough to press a teasing kiss to your sensitive bud. The fire in your stomach burns hotter when he draws you closer to his mouth, tongue swirling over your sensitive bud leaving you gasping and crying out, “ _Don’t stop_!”

Two fingers slip in, curling in a come hither motion and he takes your clit back into his mouth sucking harshly. Digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your thigh you roughly shove his face closer to your dripping core as you continue to buck your hips up. 

“Jesus, Buck,” you choke, fisting the bedsheets. Your mouth drops open when he adds a third finger, sliding it in deep and hitting that one spot that has you seeing stars behind your eyes. “ _Shit_ , yes, right there, god Bucky, _right there_!” Gasping for breath and with tears threatening to spill at the overwhelming pleasure you know you’re not going to last much longer. 

“I know you’re close, doll,” he rasps and you swear the tone, so reminiscent of his throaty morning voice that you love hearing is enough to push you over. “Let go for me. Show me how good I’m making you feel.”

A warning on the tip of your tongue, but it’s lost to the chants of his name and the endless stream of _oh god, Bucky’s_. An arch of your back, sweat dripping down your neck, fingers clutching to his hair, hips bucking upwards and the fire in your stomach is a full blown inferno when your release hits you full force. It’s intense and you’re not sure if it’s because of his talented mouth or the earlier conversation that drew you closer to one another. Either way you’re left panting and shoving his head and fingers away when the sensitivity becomes too much and he doesn’t know when to stop.

Moaning he swipes his tongue through your folds one last time, lapping at your release before sitting back on his knees to watch you come down from your high. Release coating his beard and chin, hair sticking up haphazardly, erection straining against his jeans he crawls his way up your body littering your sweaty skin with gentle kisses and nips as he goes.

“That good, huh, sweetheart?” He teases at your blissed out state. A lazy and satisfying smile curves your lips up. Tilting your head you kiss him softly. The taste of you lingers on his plump lips and warm tongue. 

Taking a moment to bask in the afterglow your body thrums with excitement the closer you each get to finally being together. “It’s always good with you,” you whisper in between kisses, adding, “This is going to be good too.” Because you can see the tension finding its way back into his shoulders. It’s the last thing you want after what just took place and the confidence he had shown. 

Resting your fingers on the top of his jeans you pause only for a second when you hear his breath hitch. A nod from him and you’re undoing his button, tugging the zipper down and slipping your hand beneath the waistband of his boxers. Hot, thick and throbbing you both moan when your hand wraps around him.

A gentle stroke, a choked moan from him and he’s yanking his pants down so quickly you want to tease him about being eager, but he’s moaning again, eyes fluttering shut and you’re too distracted with seeing him get lost in the pleasure to do much more than pull his boxers down to join his pants around his knees.

“How’s that?” You ask, punctuating your words with a gentle squeeze.

Head dropping into the crook of your neck, hot breath panting, hips thrusting into your hand as his metal hand finds purchase amongst your pillows. “Fuck,” he grunts, struggling to get the one word out. “Doll… you gotta… _fuck_ , Y/N, you gotta slow down or this is gonna be over soon.”

Biting your lip and nodding your head you slow your pace, but keep your hand wrapped around his length as your thumb brushes across his tip.

“Yeah, better,” he chokes out. Sucking in a breath he pulls his head away from your neck. “Gotta… hold on.” And it’s such a contrast from moments ago, gone is your confident Bucky who touched you like a man who knew exactly where to touch you to make you see stars, who knew exactly how to kiss you until you were breathless and dizzy. In his place is the Bucky of earlier, all fumbling hands as he tugs his jeans and boxers from his thighs, kicking them off the bed. He offers you a shy smile, cheeks bursting with pink and you can’t help thinking of how the theme of the night has been two steps forward and one step back. 

You’d do anything to help ease his nerves and show him how his darkest thoughts and fears of not being good enough for you are bullshit. Removing your hand from his length you sit up, cringing as you shift over the dampness of your sheets. Keeping your voice quiet you ask, “Do you want me to be on top?” The relief that floods his face before he tries to cover it up has a crack forming in your heart, but your core clenches when he nods his head and you again find yourself in a battle of wills between _knowing_ that you should talk about this and giving into the pleasure that’s only moments away.

Limbs tangle together and get caught up in twisted and balled sheets, you bite back a giggle when his toe catches the corner of your sheet and he’s sprawling on his back. It’s easy to forget that he’s a trained assassin when he looks so helpless trying to lay down. Readjusting so his head is propped up against your pillows and his thighs are spread you swallow down the mixture of nerves and excitement pooling in the pit of your stomach. 

Cupping his cheek you kiss him softly, thumb brushing across his jaw you will him to relax as you deepen the kiss. “Ready?”

“For you to do all the work? Yeah.” Cheeky smile and you’re laughing against his mouth and kissing him once more. 

Memories of kneeing him in the ribs are only too fresh in your mind and after coming so far tonight you’re extra careful when you straddle his waist. Wrapping your hand around the base of him you glide his tip through your wet folds. The groans he’s letting out at the barest hint of contact between your bodies has your walls clenching and your mouth watering. His fists clench by his side and his eyes are slamming shut as you slowly lower yourself down taking him inch by inch.

No stranger to the girth or length of him from the countless times you’ve had him in your hand and mouth it still doesn’t prepare you for the near unbearable sting as he stretches you. Hands fly to his chest, nails digging crescent shapes into his skin and you’ve only sunk halfway down.

“Fuck,” he moans, dragging the syllables out. Flesh hand hesitantly moving to your hip, fingers stroking your skin and you can tell it’s taking all his self control not to slam his hips upwards. 

Sinking down another couple of inches and you’re reminding yourself to breathe and relax, but it’s easier said than done. Tearing your eyes away from his you glance down to his chest, red from your nails clawing at him down to where your bodies are connected and he’s disappearing into you. A strangled moan leaves your mouth and you swear you’re going to leave his chest torn open and bleeding by the time you finally take all of him. 

Forceful grip on your hip and he’s letting out low grunts that you swear are going to be the death of you. “ _Y/N,_ ” he chokes out, head slamming back against your pillow. “Sweetheart, _fuck_ you’re tight.”

Breathing heavily you take a second to admire him. The flushed and sweaty cheeks, his parted lips, the half lidded eyes, the whir of his metal hand still clenching and unclenching by his side. The filth that’s spewing from his mouth and the sinful noises he’s making spur you on, lowering yourself down until he‘s fully sheathed inside you. He stretches you in a way no man has before, filling you to the brim and it’s _delicious._

“ _Buck_ ,” you gasp, taking a beat to get used to the fullness.

The pain still lingers when you slowly lift your hips up and lower yourself back down, but the way he moans makes it worth it. “How’s that?” You ask again, setting a slow pace as you splay your hands across his broad and sweaty chest.

Skimming his hand along the curve of your hip he grunts. Hesitantly, he thrusts his hips up and the pleasure that shoots through you has you chanting a string of broken _yes_. 

“You like that?” 

Unable to answer you nod your head frantically and he does it again, the second time feeling even better. “Feels so good, _you_ feel so good. Keep going, _god_ keep going, Buck.” Babbling nonsensical words and tossing your head back you roll your hips against his, nails sinking back into his chest as the pleasure begins to overwhelm you.

Grunting, his metal hand crawls up up your stomach, thumb brushing across nipples. “Y/N,” he moans, eyes slamming shut, “Come on, need you to move those hips a little faster for me, sweetheart.”

His words have your walls fluttering and you pick up the pace with his help. Arching your back you can’t believe how _good_ it feels to have him inside of you. Thick and pulsing you feel every vein and ridge bumping against your walls, spurring you on, but even though it feels good you need just a little more. 

“Touch me,” you plead, words drifting out amid the rhythmic creaking bed and headboard bumping against the wall no doubt annoying your neighbors.

He doesn’t need to be told twice and though his hand doesn’t shake his touch is still featherlight when he slips a hand between your sweating bodies to stroke your clit.

Your thighs begin to burn from the exertion and punishing pace you’ve set, but you push the thought to the back of your mind when Bucky’s thumb circles your clit with more pressure and the fire in your belly stirs hotter. 

“Just like that, Bucky,” you praise, breasts bouncing as you rock your hips faster against his. “I’m so close. _Just a little more_.”

“Gonna spend the rest of the night buried in you.” Sitting up and wrapping his arm around your waist the quick movement and new position has you crying out. “ _Fuck_ we got a lotta missed time to make up for.” 

Bodies slick with sweat and neither of you can keep your hands or mouths off one another. Sloppy kisses and even sloppier thrusts as you each near the end. 

“ _B-Buck_!” you cry out, hands clawing at his shoulders and clutching to his short hair in a desperate bid to hold on to something, to _anything_.

The fire burns into an inferno and with a strangled cry you’re struggling to keep up the pace enough for him to reach his own release. A flash of white bursts behind your eyes and you’re reduced to nothing more than loose limbs and gasps of his name as you coax him to let go.

“Y/N,” he growls, hips faltering, body growing tense and he’s letting go, teeth sinking into your shoulder he struggles to contain the moans and grunts he’s letting loose.

Without the sounds of your moans and his filthy words, the headboard bumping against the wall and the bed creaking your room is eerily silent save for your ragged breaths. 

Slumping against his chest he’s the first to break through the silence when he lets out a breathless _love you_ , following it up with a kiss to your shoulder where his teeth had been only moments before. Dragging his nose across your collarbone and up your throat you hum at the gentleness that accompanies his movements. 

“I love you too.” Whispered words that are second nature spill from your mouth. Another hum, body shifting over his in an attempt to get off, but he’s pulling you impossibly closer, muffled whine escaping his lips. Thighs burning, body sticky with sweat and your releases, you know that you need to go to the bathroom, get cleaned up, but when his mouth searches yours out in a drawn out kiss you forget about all of that as he pulls you back under. 

“It was okay?” He breaths, fingertips stroking across your lower back, painting your sweaty skin with words of love and you find it endearing how after everything that’s happened he’s _still_ uncertain. 

“It was perfect, Buck, _you_ were perfect.” Pushing a sweaty lock of hair away from his eyes your lips land on his forehead and you take an extra moment to bask in the way that it feels to be wrapped up in his arms after your first time together. The stress and anxiety that led up to his moment are gone and in their place is a sense of calm and love. “But I _really_ need you to let me go because I have to go to the bathroom,” you whine, hips shifting over his as your hands loosen their hold from around his shoulders. The peaceful afterglow is shattered with your laugh and his groan, but you like it best like this, when his guard is down and he’s relaxed. 

“Go,” he murmurs, stealing another kiss that for a second makes you think about staying like this for another few minutes, but he’s loosening his hold, yawn escaping from him and you know if you don’t leave now your resolve will crumble and you _will_ spend the rest of the night like this. 

Climbing off his lap you pick up a pile of clothes not caring or knowing who they truly belong to as you head to the bathroom to get cleaned up. Exhaustion nips at your limbs, the emotional turmoil of the night taking its toll on you and by the time you finish cleaning up and head back to your room you’re met with the sight of Bucky on his back, sheets pulled to his waist, snoring quietly. You watch him for a minute, the way sleep has come easy to him tonight and you make a mental note to continue the conversation in the morning. Climbing into bed next to him you kiss his cheek, smiling when he doesn’t so much as stir before curling into his side and letting sleep overtake you as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


End file.
